


In The Waking Hours

by Triangulum



Series: The Hours [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Anal Sex, Cis Female Stiles Stilinski, Double Penetration, F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Stetopher Week 2017, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 22:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12517684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: Chris and Stiles have been at their house in Spain for a little over a year when Stiles answers the door to see Peter standing on the other side of it, a bag slung over his shoulder. Chris hears the doorbell, but doesn't hear anything else, so he walks into the foyer curiously, to see Stiles standing in front of the door, staring at Peter with her mouth hanging open. Peter looks uncomfortable and unsure, hand clenching the strap of his bag tightly.OrSequel to In The Mourning Hours





	In The Waking Hours

**Author's Note:**

> So this doesn't fit today's Stetopher Week theme of 'magic' in any way except I mention Stiles is a spark...that's literally it.
> 
> This is a sequel to In The Mourning Hours. If you don't feel like reading that first, the gist is Stiles and Chris are hooking up, the pack gets the sheriff killed, and Chris and Stiles leave Beacon Hills. This picks up after that.

Chris does end up taking Stiles to Ireland, she doesn't meet any fairies though. He honestly thinks that's for the best. They're tricky when they're in the best mood, and Chris doesn't want Stiles accidentally offending one and getting cursed. Fairy magic is hard to break. 

They go to Scotland after, because Stiles has always wanted to go to Edinburgh and even if Chris weren't interested, he's getting glimpses of the old Stiles back, and he would do anything to encourage that. She's still grieving, her eyes still go distant and haunted when Chris knows she's thinking about the sheriff's death, but the constant cloud of depression that had plagued her those first few months after the wendigo attack has faded. Chris is so very relieved.

After Scotland, they go to France. The Argent name may as well be mud these days, but Chris maintains plenty of his contacts, people that will talk to him despite to scum his father and sister turned out to be. The Avelines, a hunter family nearly as old as the Argents, welcome them into their family home with open arms and barely raise an eyebrow at Stiles and Chris sharing a room. 

The matriarch, an elderly woman named Bernadette, immediately takes to Stiles. Chris is a bit surprised in all honestly. Bernadette isn't known for being a warm woman, but after one conversation with Stiles, she's smiling and talking like they're old friends. She takes Stiles to the armory, a large converted barn behind the ranch house. She has Stiles pick a weapon and says, "Show me what you can do."

Chris is proud watching her. Stiles hits every mark with the pistol and shotgun, and nearly every target with the rifle. In general, Stiles avoids using a bow and arrow when she can, knowing that it makes Chris think of Allison, but Bernadette doesn't know that and hands her one. Stiles looks at Chris, biting her lip uncertainly, but he just nods. Stiles turns and squares up, and when she draws the string back and lets the arrow loose, it buries itself just an inch left of the target.

"You've taught her well," Bernadette comments while Stiles puts the weapons away. "You've made her very dangerous."

"She was already dangerous," Chris says. "I just gave her the tools."

Bernadette looks at him appraisingly and Chris has the distinct feeling of a bug under a microscope. It reminds him of the last time his mother looked at him like that, when he told her he was marrying Victoria. Bernadette nods approvingly and invites them on a hunt.

The Aveline hunters work seamlessly, moving through the woods like ghosts. Chris and Stiles are in a group led by Renard Aveline, Bernadette's grandson. He's young, maybe a couple years older than Stiles, but he takes down one of the rabid omegas quickly and mercifully. It's nice to work with hunters with a code again, hunters who are organized and skilled, not led by a fanatic. 

He's less pleased when Renard starts touching Stiles more than is necessary for acquaintances. It's small at first, a hand on her lower back, fingers wrapped around her to help her over a log (help that she doesn't need). Then it's less small, wiping an eyelash from under her eye and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Chris tries to push down his irrational anger. Stiles is more than capable of telling him to fuck off, she doesn't need Chris saying anything on her behalf.

Stiles looks at Renard with her eyebrows raised. They're in the armory with a half-dozen others, cleaning the guns after the hunt, and Renard steps into her space, reaching up to touch her cheek. Stiles steps back, batting away his hand. 

"Personal space, dude," Stiles says. Renard chuckles, like she's teasing, and tries to step closer, but Stiles sticks her arm out between them, keeping him where he is. "Seriously, is this is a French thing or a you thing? I'm inclined to think it's you because everyone else has been perfectly respectful."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Renard says and the sad thing is, Chris thinks he might even be telling the truth.

"And I'm not going to waste time explaining it to you. Don't touch me. I don't like to be touched," Stiles says.

"He touches you," Renard says, nodding to where Chris is standing behind her.

Stiles glances at Chris and smirks. She takes the few steps until she's at his side and worms her way under his arm. Chris pulls her flush to his side and she wraps her arms around his waist, smirking at Renard's startled look. Chris hides his smile by pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Yes, he does," Stiles says. "Frequently. And in very fun places."

Renard looks disgusted, but the other hunters around them look either amused or like they couldn't care less. Stiles is very careful to make sure she kisses Chris in front of Renard for the rest of the night. When Chris eats her out later when they're in bed, burying his face between her thighs, she's sure to shriek as she comes, knowing Renard is just a few doors away.

They stay with the Aveline family for a month before moving on. When Chris had left Beacon Hills with Isaac a few years ago, they'd come here. Chris had known of a pack in the south of France that takes in refugees and wolves without packs. The alpha had graciously accepted Isaac, and he's been there ever since. He emails and texts Chris every so often, giving him updates on his life, and Chris does the same. 

Isaac hadn't been impressed when Chris told him about Stiles. He'd recognized it's none of his business though and has mostly kept his distaste to himself. It's the only reason Stiles has agreed to come with Chris to visit him.

They meet Isaac in Le Vigan, the closest city to where the pack lives. His alpha doesn't want a hunter knowing their exact location, which Chris understands. Isaac looks good, healthier than when Chris had left him. He's put on enough weight that his cheekbones don't look hollow, and the tense set of his shoulders he's always carried, like he expects a blow at any moment, has abated. 

"Chris," Isaac says, shaking Chris' hand before getting pulled in for a hug. He and Stiles look awkwardly at each other. They've never been close friends so it'd be weird to hug, but even weirder to shake hands. Stiles settles on awkwardly waving, which Isaac returns.

The cafe Isaac takes them to is quaint, which Chris prefers to a pretentious, expensive place anyway. The food is good and Stiles is unusually quiet, letting Chris and Isaac catch up. He's not unaware, he knows there's some uncomfortable feelings between them, probably stemming for Stiles' feeling that Isaac was trying to replace her as Scott's best friend. She doesn't talk to Scott anymore, though. Doesn't talk to anyone from Beacon Hills other than Peter, actually, so she doesn't seem to know what to do with her useless hostility. 

"So, this is weird," Isaac says at one point, gesturing to where Chris' fingers are tangled with Stiles'.

Stiles tenses, hand tightening in Chris'. Chris gives her fingers a reassuring squeeze.

"Not as weird as werewolves being real," Stiles says.

Isaac looks at her for a second, then shrugs. "Fair enough," he says. "I'm sorry. About what happened to your dad." Stiles' breath catches and she looks at Chris accusingly. "He didn't tell me," Isaac says quickly. "Scott emails me once in a while and mentioned it."

"Oh," Stiles says, slumping back into her chair. "Uh, yeah. Thanks."

"I won't tell him I saw you, if that's what you're worried about," Isaac says. 

"Thanks," Stiles says. "I'm done with Beacon Hills."

"So am I," Isaac says. Stiles just nods.

It's a little less awkward after that. They finish their food and Isaac walks them back to their hotel. They leave the next morning.

Chris and Stiles run into Jackson in London completely on accident. Stiles is flipping through a book in a small bookstore, Chris at her side, when Jackson walks around the corner and literally bumps into Stiles. They look at each other with wide eyes, though Jackson recovers first, his sneer sliding back into place, but Chris can see through the cracks.

"Lydia said you took off together, but I didn't really believe it until now," Jackson says.

Chris can see Stiles' jaw clench, her hands tighten on the book she's holding, and he knows why. If Jackson's still in contact with Lydia, that means that she'll know as soon as Jackson texts her where Chris and Stiles are, and they've been careful to avoid letting the McCall pack have any idea about their location for months, ever since they changed their phone numbers.

"Did Lydia also say she helped get my dad killed?" Stiles snaps.

Jackson's cocky smirk falters. "What?" he asks.

"Yeah, I figured she hadn't," Stiles says. "Scott and the wonder pack fucked up and got my dad killed. So yeah, fuck Beacon Hills, I'm out."

"I didn't know," Jackson says. "She just said you and Chris are a thing now and ran off together."

"Are you gonna tell her you saw us?" Stiles asks.

"Why shouldn't I?" Jackson says.

"Because I'm asking you not to," Stiles says. "I'm done with them and I don't want to deal with being chased across the globe."

"Right, like I've ever been able to keep a secret from Lydia," Jackson says.

Stiles grits her teeth and Chris can't tell if it's from her trying not to scream at him, or trying not to cry.

"Fine," Stiles bites out. "Excuse me for thinking that for once in your useless life you wouldn't be a complete asshole."

Stiles grabs Chris' hand and shoves past Jackson, pulling Chris out of the bookshop. Her grip is tight as they walk down the street back toward their hotel. She's practically vibrating with anger and Chris would love to tug her to him, to hold her and soothe away the rage, but she doesn't work like that. She needs to get it out of her system before she takes any kind of comfort.

"Wait!" 

They turn at the shout, seeing Jackson jogging down the street to them.

"What."

"I don't _want_ to screw you over," Jackson says, though it looks like is pains him. "Lydia and I...we made a promise not to lie to each other anymore. We were really bad to each other and we're trying not to be. That's why I can't not tell her."

Stiles glares. "Fine. I'd say it's good to see you, but I don't want to _lie_ ," she says. 

Chris and Stiles had planned on spending a few weeks in London, but they leave that night. Stiles wouldn't put it past Lydia to fly out there to try to hunt them down, and Chris doesn't blame her. 

Stiles doesn't really check her email anymore, at least not the one the pack has, but Chris has to keep up on his for work. Occasionally Scott or Lydia will email him asking where they are, pleading with him to have Stiles call them. Chris ignores all of them. On the train out of London, he gets one from Lydia saying she knows they're in England and wants to talk. Chris gets as far as 'I know Stiles is upset about her dad, but...' before deleting it. 

They end up in Spain. Stiles' Spanish is rough, not having really bothered with it since high school, but she can ask basic questions and understand the answers well enough. She can buy groceries and order in restaurants. She isn't fluent by any means, but Chris is and she's with him most of the time anyway, so it's okay.

Stiles likes Spain. They rent a house in a small town on the coast, the beach visible out of their windows. Stiles usually spends her mornings on the balcony of their bedroom, overlooking the ocean while she does work for her online classes. She's slowly making her way through the basic prerequisites for most degrees, unsure what she'll do when she actually has to pick a major. Chris doesn't push her, lets her decide things at her own pace. 

Chris works from the home office he has set up downstairs. It lets him wake up when he wants, lets him stay in bed with her, both of them nude beneath the sheets. Stiles is cuddled close to his side, a soft breeze coming in from the open French doors leading to the balcony. Her leg is thrown over his, her bare cunt pressed against his thigh. She's still a bit soft and messy, his release from the night before slowly dripping out of her, but he doesn't mind at all.

Stiles rubs her face against his chest as she wakes up, rolling her hips against him. She's not always like this when she wakes up, but there are plenty of lazy mornings when they fuck with the sound of crashing waves outside. Chris runs his hand up her smooth back, pulling her closer until she's lying on top of him, cunt pressed against his hardening cock. Chris tugs her down for a kiss, framing her face with his rough, calloused hands. Stiles hums into it, both of them not caring about morning breath.

"Hi," Stiles says when he pulls back, smiling slightly.

"Hi," Chris says back, brushing a stray hair from her face.

Stiles grins and rolls her hips, grinding against his cock. Chris groans, running his hands down her body to rest at her waist. His grip on her is tight as she rocks, rubbing her wet pussy over his shaft. She loves to tease him, loves how hard he gets for her, but she can never keep it up for long, her own desire winning out soon enough.

Stiles lifts her hips, positioning his cock at her entrance, and sinks down, groaning as he fills her completely. She's still open from last night and doesn't want any foreplay, is more than happy to just have him inside her. Chris will eat her out for hours later anyway, so he doesn't mind her impatience.

Stiles rolls her hips, grinding her hard little clit against him as she chases her pleasure. Chris can't come like this, but he doesn't mind waiting. She's so tight and warm around him and her clenching cunt is so delicious when she comes on him, head thrown back and his name of her lips. Chris thrusts up into her as she comes, prolonging her orgasm and chasing his own. 

Chris shudders as he comes inside her, filling her up. His hands are tight on her hips, keeping her straddling him as he comes down from his orgasm. Stiles grins lazily down at him and lies down on top of him, his cock still nestled deep inside her. He can take her weight easily, lithe thing that she is, and he wraps his arms around her, content to lie where they are. 

Stiles eventually has to roll off of him, needing a shower. Chris would love to join her, but they both know they won't be doing much showering if he does. Instead, he heads to his office downstairs to answer emails and get started on the day. He's still surprised every once in a while that he can be this content after everything that's happened, after losing his wife and Allison and everything. But he is, he's happy with their life, as unconventional as it is.

That's when Peter Hale shows up on their doorstep. 

Chris and Stiles have been at their house in Spain for a little over a year when Stiles answers the door to see Peter standing on the other side of it, a bag slung over his shoulder. Chris hears the doorbell, but doesn't hear anything else, so he walks into the foyer curiously, to see Stiles standing in front of the door, staring at Peter with her mouth hanging open. Peter looks uncomfortable and unsure, hand clenching the strap of his bag tightly. 

"Peter," Stiles says in surprise. A second later she's flinging herself forward, tugging him into a tight hug. Peter hugs her back, eyes closing in relief. Chris watches, leaning against the doorway.

Chris and Stiles hear from Peter occasionally. Sometimes it's a heads up about some threat he's heard about, sometimes trying to exchange information. Once, Chris is pretty sure he'd been drunk texted (when he checks the date, the anniversary of the fire, he understands). But he hasn't heard from Peter in months and hadn't had any inkling that he would end up on their front door.

When Peter pulls away from the hug and meets Chris' eyes, he's still uncertain. He and Chris haven't been close, haven't had the best relationship, but Peter's friendship has been important to Stiles, so Chris doesn't mind.

"We're just having lunch," Chris says. "How do you feel about chicken?"

Peter sags, remaining tension leaving his body.

"As long as Stiles isn't cooking it," Peter says.

"Hey! I've gotten a lot better!" Stiles says. 

Peter eats lunch with them and it's a bit bizarre, but Chris is surprised that he doesn't mind it. He and Stiles chat with a few locals when they're out, but they don't have any real friends here. Peter's company isn't the worst thing that could happen. 

"How'd you find us?" Stiles asks.

"I never lost you," Peter says. "But Scott and the others don't know you're here, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not," Stiles says. "I don't expect that's information you'd readily share."

"I'm wondering why now?" Chris says. "What made you finally leave Beacon Hills, your family's home for generations?"

Peter sighs and takes a sip of his wine before answering. They're out on the back veranda, overlooking the ocean below. Peter's beautiful with the sun behind him, framed by the waves, but he's always beautiful. 

"Derek and Cora made it clear they won't be back. Scott keeps opening his arms to more and more unstable baby werewolves. It does me no good to stand behind and watch, the last Hale in Beacon Hills, as my family's territory is destroyed," Peter says.

Chris nods. He understands. 

"Well we have a guest room if you want," Stiles says. "I mean, I think it needs to be aired out a bit and the mattress isn't the best, but it's there."

"Thanks you. That reminds me," Peter says, reaching down to his bag at his feet. He pulls out a thick book, older than anything Chris has. "I liberated this from my family's vault before I left town. Happy late birthday."

Stiles' eyes are wide as she gently takes the tome from him. 

"Are you sure?" Stiles asks. "This is your family's..."

Peter shrugs. "You're the spark, a grimoire is going to be much more useful to you than to me," he says. "I didn't bring anything for you, Chris. My charming personality will have to be enough."

Chris rolls his eyes, but pours Peter another glass of wine.

Peter moves seamlessly into their lives. He takes a spot in the rotation cooking. He trains with Stiles and Chris. He goes with Stiles when she goes grocery shopping in town. He and Chris go for morning runs together, since Stiles absolutely refuses. Peter doesn't say how long he plans on staying, and Stiles and Chris don't ask. 

Peter starts touching them more. Chris has noticed he's always been fairly tactile with Stiles, even when they were back in Beacon Hills. Chris has the sneaking suspicion that she's the only one Peter really considered pack. That hasn't changed now, but he starts touching Chris, too. A hand on the hip as he moves past him in the kitchen. Bumping their shoulders together while they run on the beach. Lingering a little longer than usual when their hands bump together grabbing for the bottle of wine. Chris finds he likes it. 

Peter has been with them for two months when he and Stiles come back from the small grocery store in town. Chris is in his office and is about to shout a hello, when he hears the front door slam and their voices hiss urgently. Frowning, Chris walks out to the foyer, where Stiles is shaking, eyes wide. Peter's arm is wrapped around her as she clutches to his side. Peter glances up when Chris comes into view, looking worried.

Chris is over in an instant. Peter doesn't let go of Stiles, but nudges her enough that she's tucked under his arm but facing Chris. Chris takes her face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over her cheekbones, looking any any sign of injury. She hasn't been crying, but she looks close. 

"Love," Chris murmurs. "What happened?"

Stiles shakes her head and leans forward, pressing her forehead to his chest. Chris wraps his arm around her, his forearm pressing against Peter's. He looks at Peter with eyebrows raised.

"We were at a fruit stand in that little bazaar a few miles away and this older woman came out from a booth," Peter says. "She stopped us and said she had a message for Stiles. From her dad."

Chris' eyebrows raise. "Okay..." he says slowly.

"She said, 'Your father isn't angry at you and it isn't your fault'," Peter says. Chris raises his eyebrows. That's a very generic thing, something you could say to most people and get a reaction. "And that he doesn't blame her for leaving Beacon Hills."

That does stop Chris short. No one here knows they're from Beacon Hills. No one here knows anything about them period other than an older man and a younger woman are living together a good twenty minutes from town. 

"She wandered off after that. The fruit vendor said she's a local psychic and 'you just get used to it'," Peter says, the sneer telling Chris exactly what he thinks of that.

"Sweetheart," Chris murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Stiles' head.

"I'm fine," Stiles mumbles into Chris' chest. 

"Uh huh," Chris says. 

"Present evidence excluded," she says, pulling back until she's looking up at him. "I just wasn't expecting it."

Chris regards her silently for a few moments, then nods. "Why don't you two pick out a movie. I'll be in in a minute," Chris says. Stiles nods. Peter lets his arm drop and makes to follow her to the living room, but Chris stops him with a hand on the bicep. "This woman. Did you smell anything on her?"

"Nothing supernatural," Peter says. "She smelled exactly like you'd expect an old person to smell."

Chris nods, frowning. He's well aware that all manners of supernatural beings exist, and that it shouldn't be surprising that there's one in their little town, but it's still unsettling to be blindsided. He doesn't realize he's still holding Peter's arm until he clears his throat. Chris lets go of him.

"Not going to tell me to stop touching her?" Peter asks, smirking a bit, but Chris knows Peter's looks by now and knows this one is to hide his discomfort.

"No," Chris says. "You matter to her. And you're not going to take advantage of her."

Peter's face is, for once, open and surprised. Chris hesitates a moment before grasping the back of Peter's neck, squeezing lightly. It's the first time he's initiated one of the touches between them. He turns before Peter can say anything and heads to the kitchen. 

Stiles likes hot chocolate and popcorn when she's upset, so Chris sets out making enough for all of them. He can't help but mull over this thing with Peter while he waits for the popcorn to be done. He's seen the way Peter looks at Stiles, looks at both of them. It's with pure want and need, like they're the last chance he has. And Chris doesn't know what to do with that.

He brings out the bowl of popcorn and mugs of hot chocolate on a serving tray and sets it on the coffee table in front of the couch. Stiles is curled under a throw blanket in the middle of the deep sectional, despite the fact that it's warm inside. Peter beside her, a hand resting on her side. Chris takes a seat on her other side, coaxing her out of the blanket with the promise of hot chocolate.

"Twister?" he asks, looking at the TV. It's paused right at the beginning of the movie, with young Alexa Vega still sleeping. 

"Cinema classic," Stiles says, taking a long drink from her mug. She sighs happily and bumps her head against his shoulder. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Chris says. 

Chris passes Peter a mug, which he accepts with a nod, and starts the movie. Stiles finishes her drink and snuggles into Chris' side, his arm around her shoulders. Peter sits on her other side, looking a bit uncomfortable, but then Stiles reaches out and tugs him closer until he's pressed against her side, his hand twined with hers. Peter looks up at Chris, like he's expecting to be pushed away, but Chris doesn't say anything. 

Stiles needs this, and Peter is in a position to give her the comfort she needs. And Chris can't lie, he likes Peter here with them. The arm Chris has around Stiles brushes against Peter and when Stiles starts dozing on Chris' chest, Chris reaches further and rests his hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter looks at him steadily, expression unreadable, before closing his eyes and leaning his head back on the couch, not dislodging Chris' hand.

They stay like that for a long time, long after the movie is over, until Stiles stirs. Dinner is subdued that night, but Stiles' mood is better, less shaken. She laughs at a story Peter tells about Derek and Cora as children, and smiles softly when Chris kisses her cheek as he refills her glass. By the time they're getting ready for bed, she's more or less back to normal, though he knows she'll be thinking about the psychic's words for a few days at the very least.

When Chris comes out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth, Stiles is nude in the middle of their bed, her legs spread wide. Her eyes are closed, one hand twisting at her hard, pink nipple, the other rubbing light circles over her clit. Chris' breath stutters. It doesn't matter that he's seen her this way for almost two years, she'll still such a beautiful sight. 

Chris is pretty sure she hasn't heard him come in, so he takes a second to watch her. Her fingers are making slick, wet noises as they rub over her clit, then down to dip inside her. Breathy little moans escape her and she twists her nipple harder, hard enough that Chris knows the little shocks of pleasure and pain are shooting through her. 

Chris is silent as he strips out of his clothes and approaches the bed. Stiles' eyes are still closed, her hand moving quickly between her thighs. She's not trying to get herself off, just trying to tease herself and give Chris a show. Her moans get louder, her thighs starting to quiver. She's biting at her lip, hips starting to move with her hand. Chris decides it's time to make his presence known and steps closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Stiles' eyes fly open when she feels the bed dip underneath Chris, his hand resting on her thigh.

"Starting without me?" he asks, trailing his fingers up to her inner thigh. Stiles' fingers are still buried inside herself and Chris traces around her wet opening, pressing a finger in beside hers. Stiles whines, hips jerking up. She pouts when he withdraws. "You wanted to play with yourself, it'd be rude of me not to let you."

"You ass," Stiles says with a laugh. She wraps a hand around his wrist, fingers still wet from her juices, and tugs him fully onto the bed. Chris grins and goes easily, his body settling over hers. "Come on, please? I've been thinking about your mouth all day."

Chris sighs and kisses her. "I really need to learn to say no to you," he says. 

Stiles giggles as he kisses his way down her body, nipping at the soft skin of her belly until he's resting between her spread legs. He nuzzles at her inner thighs, beard scraping against the soft skin. Her labia is soaked, cunt red and welcoming. Chris licks up her slit, making her sigh, before nosing at her clit. He dips his tongue inside her, just bumping her clit with his nose. It's not enough to get her off, but it's enough to get her soaked, to get her wound tightly with the need to come. 

Stiles' hands twist in his hair and she rocks against his face, trying to get more stimulation. It's fun to tease her, to see how needy and desperate he can get her, but right now he wants her to come so he can bury himself inside her perfect cunt. He closes his lips around her clit and sucks gently, making her let out a long, whining moan. Her thighs are trembling on either side of his face as he slips two fingers into her, making her spasm.

"Please," she gasps. "Chris, please."

Chris hums around her clit, making her groan, and presses his fingers up, rubbing against her g-spot. She can't always squirt, but tonight she does. Chris loves it, loves the fluid gushing from her as she shouts his name, pussy clenching around his fingers as he fucks her through it. She'll bitch later that they need to change the sheets before they sleep, but she loves this, loves coming apart under his hands and tongue. 

Chris waits until her legs stop shaking and are lying limply on the bed before he takes his mouth off of her. Her chest is heaving as she breathes harshly, and she reaches down for him. He lets her guide him up her body until her mouth is on his, licking the taste of herself off his lips. The head of his cock is pressed against her core and all she has to do is tilt her hips and he's sliding inside her. Chris groans into the kiss, making her grin. 

"Come on," Stiles says, rolling her hips against him. "Fuck me 'til I can't walk. I want to feel this for days."

Stiles doesn't always want it rough. There are plenty of times when they make love slowly, bodies writhing and whimpers of each other's names of their lips. But tonight she wants this, and he's more than happy to give it to her. Chris presses one last kiss to her lips before pulling back and taking her hips in his hands. He pulls out nearly all the way, just the head of his long cock inside her, and slams back in, making her slide a bit on the sheets. Stiles groans, throwing her head back and wrapping her legs around Chris' waist.

Chris fucks her hard and fast, setting up a harsh rhythm that has her clinging to their headboard. He bumps her clit on each thrust, making her whimper and tighten up around him. It's hard to hold off from coming when he fucks her like this. He wants her to come again before he does, so he punctuates every few thrusts with a deep, dirty grind of his hips, making Stiles cry out. Her wet cunt clings to him as he fucks her, already red and swollen from how roughly he's using her. She loves it like that, though. She'll enjoy sitting down tomorrow and feeling that heat pulse through her, knowing she's sore from him pounding into her.

"I'm gonna come," Stiles whimpers. She reaches between their bodies and rubs quick fingers over her clit, body tensing as she gets close.

"That's it," Chris grunts. He lifts one of her legs up over his shoulder so he can press in deeper. Stiles shrieks at the new angle, fingers working quicker between their legs. "Come for me, love."

Stiles sobs out his name as she comes, pussy fluttering around his cock. Chris fucks her through it, grip tight on her hips. Her spasming cunt is enough to pull him over the edge and he finally stills, burying his face in her neck as he comes, cock pressed deep inside her. Stiles whimpers, always loving feeling him pulse inside her. 

Chris gently lowers her leg when he's done, rolling to the side so she can stretch her muscles. Stiles hums happily and rolls against his side, throwing a leg over his. Her creamy cunt is pressed against his thigh and he loves it, loves being able to feel what he's done to her body. She presses a kiss to his chest before lying her head over his heart, sighing contentedly. 

They'll have to get up and change the sheets soon, neither of them wanting to sleep in the spot that's soaked through, but they let themselves bask in the afterglow for a while, content to just touch and hold each other. Chris doesn't bring up what happened earlier in the day, though he knows it's something they'll need to talk about eventually, if only to find out as much as they can about this local psychic and make sure she isn't a danger to them. Chris doesn't want to bring that up right before they sleep though, doesn't want to remind Stiles of what the old woman had said and make it impossible for her to get to bed. Peter, though. Peter's a safer topic. Somewhat. 

"Peter and I are going to clean the pool tomorrow," Chris says. "Since we haven't touched it in a while."

"Mm, good," Stiles says. "It'll be nice to just float around."

"He wants you," Chris says.

"I think he wants you a bit more," Stiles says. She props her chin up on his chest, looking up at him with warm eyes. "What do you want to do about that?"

"What do you mean?" Chris asks.

Stiles rolls her eyes like he's being purposefully obtuse, which is fair. "Peter isn't going to be the one to make the first move on either of us. The ball's in our court. Do you want things to stay the same, or do you want to see what could happen with him?" she asks.

"What do you want?" Chris asks.

"Nuh uh, I asked first," Stiles says. "I know you. I know there's the possibility that you'll say yes to something because you think it's what I want, even if you don't particularly want to do it. So, your opinion first."

Chris is quiet for a few minutes, absently running his fingers through her hair. It's longer now, almost to her shoulders. She lets him gather his thoughts, just hums under his touch. He thinks of all the little touches they've shared, the way Peter has watched him as they made dinner together. He thinks of the way Peter puts Stiles first, the he had her gathered to his side when they got home today. He thinks of everything Peter has done for them since they left, every late night call or text or email to share information or give a tip off or just talk. 

He thinks of how much he wants to touch Peter, wants to take him apart.

"I think it could be good," Chris says at last. "Having him with us."

Stiles grins. "Yeah, so do I," she says. 

Chris holds her as she falls asleep, musing over Peter. There's a good chance he heard their conversation, it's just a matter of bringing it up to him. Chris doesn't know if it's something Peter will even be interested in. Does his wolf allow him to share partners? The idea of watching Peter with Stiles, watching him learn to touch her how she likes, watching him taking her apart, appeals to him greatly. He falls asleep with his erection pressed against Stiles' ass, imagining Peter fucking her.

If Peter heard their conversation, he doesn't let on to it. Chris and Peter have been cleaning the pool for a good half hour in companionable silence. Chris wonders if Peter hadn't overheard them or if Stiles is right and he's waiting for them to make the first move. Maybe both. 

Stiles comes out when they're done with a pitcher of sangria, wearing a short sundress over her bikini. She draws the dress slowly over her head, Peter's eyes hungrily following the movement as each inch of skin is revealed. Chris can't blame him. Stiles doesn't try to be seductive often, but when she does, she does it well. 

Peter's eyes skate to Chris, raking over his bare torso as Chris tosses his shirt to the side and picks up a glass of sangria. 

"Did you use the good wine for this?" Chris asks.

"Wine is wine. It's only good in sangria," Stiles says.

"You're a heathen," Peter says.

Stiles shrugs, unapologetic, and hands Peter a glass before sitting on the edge of the pool, her legs in the water. The sun is warm on Chris' skin as he slips into the water. He'd like to use the hot tub, but it's a little too hot out right now. Maybe later. He watches as Peter swims laps, powerful body moving through the water. 

Stiles' eyes are on Peter, too, her gaze heated. She drains the rest of her sangria and slips into the water, right next to Peter's path. Peter pauses, standing up, the water, coming to his chest, and raises a questioning eyebrow at her. Stiles moves through the water, wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs twisting around his waist. Peter's eyes widen and dart to Chris, who just smirks, nodding. 

Even from where Chris sitting on the pool steps ten feet away, he can see Peter exhale shakily. His hands move to Stiles' thighs, holding her up more securely. She grins and runs her fingers through the short hairs at the base on his neck.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asks.

"No," Peter says immediately, shaking his head.

"Good."

A second later she's kissing him, fingers sinking into his hair. Peter groans, arm wrapping around her back and pulling her closer. Peter's making deep, needy sounds as he presses her back against the pool wall, hungrily licking into her mouth. Chris moves through the water to them, plastering himself to Peter's back and nipping at his neck. Peter groans, breaking the kiss to tilt his head to the side, giving Chris more access.

"You can have us," Stiles murmurs, cupping Peter's face in her hands. "If you want us?"

Peter's nodding before Stiles is even done talking. His face is open, his stoic mask gone, and he looks hungry and desperate. 

"I want you. Both of you," Peter says.

"We want you, too," Stiles says and kisses him again. 

It's gentler this time, her soft lips coaxing weak noises from him. Chris runs his hands up and down Peter's sides, pressing biting kisses against his neck and shoulders. Peter lifts Stiles up by the thighs, making her squeak in surprise, and sets her on the edge of the pool. A second later he's pushing the crotch of her bikini to the side, burying his face between her legs.

Stiles moans, wrapping a hand in Peter's hair. If he minds the taste of the saltwater pool on her, he doesn't make it known, mouthing and sucking at her like she's the finest delicacy. Stiles meets Chris' eyes over Peter's head, and he knows he's looking at her with hunger, because he'd been right. Watching Peter go down on Stiles is one of the best things he's seen. His dick is hard in his swim trunks, pressing against Peter's ass. 

Chris runs his hands up Peter front, tweaking his hard nipples and making him gasp into Stiles' cunt. Peter adds a thick finger, making Stiles groan above him. She's mewling high in her throat, a sound she only makes when she's close to coming.

"She's close," Chris murmurs, squeezing Peter's hard cock through his swim trunks. Peter whimpers, fingers moving quicker in Stiles, making her whine. "She's been wanting this. She knew you'd be good with your mouth."

"He's even better than we thought," Stiles says breathlessly. "Fuck, Peter."

Peter rolls his hips back, pushing against Chris' hard cock even as he presses his face closer to Stiles' pussy. Chris can't see what exactly he's doing, but Stiles is crying out, thighs twitching on either side of Peter's face as she comes. Chris is grateful that their nearest neighbor is almost a half mile away. He doesn't want anyone but them to see Stiles like this, debauched and flushed, or hear her scream as she comes. 

Chris spins Peter around, pushing him against the side of the pool next to where Stiles' legs are hanging in the water. He grinds their hard cocks together, making Peter groan. Peter is the first man Chris has kissed in years. He can still taste Stiles on Peter's tongue as he licks into his mouth, fingers digging into his hips. 

"Fuck," Stiles groans. "That's really hot."

Peter moans, head falling forward onto Chris' shoulder as Chris pulls both of their hard cocks out of their trunks. Water isn't the best for this, but it still feels incredible to wrap his hand around both of their shafts, squeezing their cocks tightly together. Chris jacks them slowly, rubbing his thumb over the tip of Peter's cock on each stroke. 

"Fuck, Chris," Peter groans. 

It's the first time Peter hasn't called him Christopher or Argent, and for some reason it makes what they're doing feel so much more intimate. Peter kisses the side of Chris' neck, sucking what's sure to be a dark mark. Chris tightens his hand around their cocks, stroking faster. This is going to be over embarrassingly quickly, but Peter seems to be on the same page there, so Chris doesn't feel too bad.

Peter sinks his blunt, human teeth into Chris' neck has he orgasms, groaning. He cock jerks in Chris' grip, coming into the water. Next time, Chris wants to see his come dripping out of Stiles. The thought alone is enough to push him closer. He lets go of Peter's softening cock and strokes himself faster. Peter's kissing him again, harsh and relentless, then Chris is coming hard, hissing as he releases into the water. 

It takes a few moments to catch his breath. He and Peter stay tangled with each other until Chris feels steady enough on his own.

"You have defiled the pool," Stiles says, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "For shame."

Chris hums, tapping her thigh. "I don't seem to recall you complaining."

"Well that's because - hey!" 

Stiles doesn't get a chance to finish because Chris yanks her by her wrist into the water. She lands with a splash between him and Peter, head popping out of the water, looking indignant. 

"Peter has rubbed off on you too much," she says with a scowl.

"I don't know about 'too much', but the rubbing off part was definitely fun," Peter says.

Stiles groans, covering her face with her hands. "You guys are menaces. What did I get into?"

Peter laughs, and it's a freer sound than Chris has heard from him since he came to them.

That night, after showers, dinner, and many more kisses and touches, Peter comes to bed with them instead of staying in the guest room. Chris gets his wish of watching Peter fuck Stiles. He takes her on all fours, her ass presented to him. She screams Peter's name as she comes, collapsing forward and shaking. Chris comes with a hand on his cock, watching Peter pump his come into her used cunt. When they sleep, it's with Peter in the middle, their legs all tangled together.

Peter doesn't use the guest room again. His clothes and belongings, few that they are, migrate into the master bedroom closet. They rotate who sleeps in the middle, though Stiles ends up there a lot because she gets cold easily and loves their warmth. It's not uncommon for Chris to wake up to Peter nuzzling at his cock, or Peter's mouth between Stiles' thighs. Stiles tells him he doesn't have to, that they aren't going to lose interest in him, but he admits it's a _thing_ for him and he loves doing it. Neither Chris nor Stiles are complaining.

A few months after Peter moves into the master bedroom, an alpha comes through their town. It starts with a cow being killed on a farm a few miles from them. They don't hear about it until two more cows and a dog are killed and savaged. Locals are stumped, no idea what kind of predator could cause such carnage. Chris, Stiles, and Peter recognize it immediately. 

It's a few days before they track down the alpha in a densely wooded area a few miles from town. She's feral, moreso than Peter had been, and that's probably not helped by the moon hanging full over their heads. There's no intelligence left in her eyes, nothing but rage. Peter says she smells like wolfsbane and mistletoe poisoning. It's probably from a botched hunt that she got away from. However it happened, she's dying slowly, her mind already gone. 

Chris knows they'll have to kill her, though he doesn't relish it. He's going to shoot as humanely as possible, hopefully getting her down with one bullet, but then she lurches forward from where she'd been crouched, the wind blowing Stiles' mountain ash circle open. She lungs at Stiles, fangs bared and claws out. 

Peter roars, an inhuman noise that makes the hair on the back of Chris' neck stand up, and flings himself in front of Stiles. The feral alpha crashes into him and they hit the hard ground. It's a mess of claws and fangs and growls. Chris and Stiles can't get off a shot that doesn't have a high probability of hitting Peter, so they're forced to helplessly watch as the alpha goes from his jugular.

It's Peter who rips her throat out, though, and stands triumphantly over her dead body. His electric blue eyes bleed alpha red, his face contorting into a snarl. Chris grips his gun a little tighter. He knows what the alpha power did to Peter last time, even though he was out of his mind. Chris has no way of knowing how he's going to handle it this time. He doesn't want to put Peter down, it'll kill a part of him, but he will if he has to. 

Peter howls, long and loud, then his body begins to contort in the full moon's light. Chris can see the fur sprouting and hear the bones breaking, and moments later, there's a large, black and grey wolf where Peter had been a moment before.

"Holy shit," Stiles breathes. 

She steps forward before Chris can stop her, her hand held out in front of her. Chris wants to yank her back, but logically knows if faced with an unstable werewolf, that's not going to help matters at all. So he watches as Peter sniffs at her hand, then licks at her fingers. Stiles laughs and Peter butts his head against her hand, all but demanding her to scratch his head. She does, digging her fingers into the fur behind his hears. Peter's tongue lolls out as he closes his eyes.

Chris re-holsters his gun and walks forward. Peter opens his eyes to watch Chris kneel next to him, holding out a hand. When Peter licks it, Chris takes it as permission to touch. The fur is softer than he'd have thought, and thick enough that Peter will probably be miserable in the summer, but it's night and fall, so he should be perfectly content. 

Convincing wolf Peter to leave the trees and get back in their car is hard, but eventually Stiles manages to lure him into the backseat of the SUV. Of course, he flops into her lap the second Chris closes the door, keeping her from sitting in the front. Stiles pretends to be exasperated, but Chris can see the smile curling at her lips.

Peter shifts back when they get home, only because he doesn't want animal hair on the sheets. He lies in the middle that night, all of them nude, needing to touch as much of Chris and Stiles as possible. 

"Are we your pack now?" Stiles asks. Peter's been aggressively scenting her for the past five minutes, having already left Chris' neck red and raw from beard burn.

"You were already my pack," Peter says. "Alpha status doesn't change that."

"Oh," Stiles says, grinning. She rolls on top of Peter, straddling his hips. His hands move to her waist automatically. She grinds down, rubbing her cunt against him. "Then how about my alpha fuck me full of his come, make me smell like him for days?"

Peter growls, hands tightening on Stiles' waist. Chris props himself up on his elbow to watch, sheets pooling at his waist. Stiles rolls her hips, dragging the wet lips of her cunt up and down Peter's shaft. Chris isn't sure how long Peter's going to hold out until he slides his cock up inside that perfect cunt and fucks Stiles until she's can't walk.

"You too," Stiles says, looking at Chris. "I want both of you."

Chris groans, cock hardening completely, and Peter growls his approval. They don't do this often; it takes a lot of prep for someone as impatient as Stiles, but it feels amazing when they do, Stiles stretched wide around their thick cocks. Stiles grins as she takes Peter's cock in hand and positions him at her soaking entrance, sinking down slowly until he's buried completely inside of her, making her whimper. She rocks a bit, not nearly enough to get her or Peter off, but enough to keep them interested, presenting her ass for Chris. 

Chris doesn't need to be told twice, grabbing the lube from the bedside table and positioning himself between Peter's leg. Stiles stills when Chris slicks up his fingers, pressing one against the tight furl of her ass. He circles her rim teasingly, before slowly pushing his finger is. Stiles whines, hands tightening on Peter's shoulders, and starts rocking her hips again, fucking herself on Peter's cock and Chris' finger. It's not long before she's ready for a second finger, then a third, her greedy little hole happy to be filled. Peter's hands on her waist have claws, showing just how close to the surface his wolf is, when Chris pulls his fingers out of her.

Stiles whines and stops rocking, bending over and pressing her chest to Peter's as Chris lines up behind her. Peter presses a kiss to her lips, running his clawed hands up her back, while Chris pushes forward, the head of his cock breaching that tight ring of muscle and sliding into her. Stiles whines, tensing, before forcing herself to relax. When she's pliant, Chris slides in farther, until he's seated as deeply as he can go. She's so fucking tight with Peter's cock already filling her little cunt. Chris can feel Peter through that thin wall inside her, and when they start thrusting, the sensation of Peter's cock moving against his is almost too much.

It takes a few minutes for them to find a rhythm, but soon they're fucking in and out of her, making sure she's never empty. Stiles wails, body trembling between them as they fuck her mercilessly. Peter's new alpha instincts are screaming at him to claim her, to claim both of them, and Chris is sure that when Peter's recovered from this, it'll be Chris' turn to be filled by him. Right now though, Chris tries to keep himself together, tries not to come too quickly at the warring sensations of Stiles' hot cunt and Peter's cock pressing against his.

Stiles is babbling, telling them how much she loves being filled by them, how she loves being theirs. She tells Peter what a good alpha he'll be, how much they need him, how happy they are he's with them. Peter's eyes flash red, his claws digging into her skin, just this side of breaking skin, and Stiles shivers in pleasure. Peter fucks up into her faster, driving his thick cock harder into her abused cunt. Stiles shouts, head thrown back over Chris' shoulder as he matches Peter's pace, fucking into her hard and fast. He nips at her neck, opposite side of where Peter has left a mark, and drops one hand between her legs. He works quick circles over her hard little clit.

When Stiles comes around them, she screams, body convulsing. Her cunt and ass tighten, spasming around Peter and Chris' cocks. Peter roars, filling her with his seed. Chris had _feel_ Peter's cock jerking against his, and it only takes a few more thrusts into Stiles' trembling body before Chris is coming too, unloading deep in her bowels. Stiles collapses forward onto Peter's chest, boneless and limp, making Chris' cock slip from her. Peter wraps his arms around her, nuzzling at her temple. Peter holds a hand out to Chris, drawing him closer until he's cuddled to Peter's side, forehead against his temple.

Stiles will be sore tomorrow, her ass and cunt red and swollen, and she'll be leaking their releases for the rest of the night. Chris knows she doesn't mind, loves feeling used and taken apart. 

"I meant it," Stiles murmurs sleepily, headbutting Peter in the jaw. "I'm glad you found us. _We're_ glad you found us."

Peter glances at Chris. Chris nods, pressing a kiss to Peter's temple.

"We are," Chris affirms.

Peter smiles, one of his soft smiles that's just for them, without any mocking or malice. Chris has seen it a lot in the past few months.

The plan hadn't been staying in Spain, but they've been here almost two years now, and with Peter now with them, Chris doesn't particularly feel the need to move on for a while. He doesn't think Stiles does either.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


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